


April, 1997

by bookmarksorganization



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, spoilers through MAG 160, yearly catchups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27025810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookmarksorganization/pseuds/bookmarksorganization
Summary: The other member of their party, from the Magnus Institute, was seated there by himself. Peter wasn’t eager for introductions—James had died earlier in the year and Elias Bouchard was his seeming successor—but the sooner they all got this over with the sooner Peter could leave.He walked the rest of the way over.“Hello, Peter.”The man in front of him looked familiar. Young, maybe early-thirties. He had dark hair, cut expensively and tastefully—graceful, arched eyebrows. He was writing in a small notebook.Peter didn’t come closer. “You must be Elias.”
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Kudos: 63





	April, 1997

Simon had an estate in England up against the moors and the North Sea. Peter enjoyed the drive from Staithes. Once the town fell away he was alone, surrounded by an astonishing stretch of land, sea, and sky.

The mansion was huge, beyond even the deliberate and isolating sprawl of where Peter had grown up. It was well staffed, though, unlike his childhood home. 

Still, in the reach of that place, the staff were typically nowhere to be seen. So that was nice.

Simon was waiting for him at the entrance.

“Hello! Hello. We’re all on the terrace and I was just getting drinks. Do you want to get settled first, or?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Alright, you know the way. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

The terrace was another stretch of stone, bounded by hedges and benches. There was a lawn past it, easily the size of a polo field. A few tables and chairs were placed for scenic advantage across the stone paving, and today’s meeting seemed to be set up at the centermost one.

The other member of their party, from the Magnus Institute, was seated there by himself. Peter wasn’t eager for introductions—James had died earlier in the year and Elias Bouchard was his seeming successor—but the sooner they all got this over with the sooner Peter could leave. 

He walked the rest of the way over.

“Hello, Peter.”

The man in front of him looked familiar. Young, maybe early-thirties. He had dark hair, cut expensively and tastefully—graceful, arched eyebrows. He was writing in a small notebook.

Peter didn’t come closer. “You must be Elias.”

Elias closed the notebook, placed it inside of his suit jacket, and looked up. There was too much recognition in his expression. Were all avatars of The Eye like that?

“I must be,” he said. “You look well.”

“Thank you.”

“I like your coat.”

“...thank you.”

Peter decided to sit on a bench. Simon had disappeared somewhere. No telling when he’d come back, but certainly not soon enough. No, he loved making Peter uncomfortable. It was insulting, to find yourself hoping for the return of an acquaintance. There were alliances to maintain. Elias had to be tolerated. The scope of the new Eye’s power was unknown. He was still looking at Peter.

They sat like that: five meters apart and in silence until Simon returned, carrying drinks. The cocktails looked alarmingly heavy in those thin outstretched arms, but they were set down with steadiness at the table where Elias reclined.

“I believe we have much to discuss, Peter,” Simon called over.

“Yes,” Peter joined them. “Best we do this quickly.”

“I’m sure you must be missing your boat something awful.”

“Your sympathy isn’t necessary,” Peter said, kindly.

“Of course. I’ll start, shall I?”

Simon spent the next half hour getting them up to speed on nothing at all. He insisted on recounting all of his travel (and he loved to travel), a few investments, and some lengthy story about a music festival and drugs Peter didn’t really listen to. 

Elias was engaged. He asked prompting questions, gasped, and joked, and drew the whole thing out into something horribly unpleasant. James had been the same way: curious to the point of being invasive and prone to gossip. The commonalities were a bit uncanny.

“I’ll go,” Elias said, centuries later. “Nothing significant, beyond the continued… troubles, from Leitner’s library. Nothing unexpected, of course. Some escalation from The Flesh, but nothing worth concern.”

Simon shuddered. “ _Uhg._ Good to know. I could rather do without a post-apocalyptic meat world.”

“That makes two of us. Peter?”

Peter didn’t like the idea of a meat world. “My money. Your institute. No impending plans or concerns. Does that wrap things up here?” He stood, in hopes that it did.

“Did you figure it out, Peter?” Simon asked, from his wrought-iron chair.

Peter hesitated. “No?”

Elias grinned and lifted his glass to take a drink. “I’ll be collecting on that bet, Simon.”

Simon sighed. “Fair enough.”

“What have I missed?”

“James isn’t here,” Elias said.

Peter was eager to leave. “Just come out with it. I hadn’t given much thought to how your god handles succession. You seem competent enough, and I see James’s fondness for bets has been passed down, in addition to some other charming qualities. Are you related?”

Elias laughed. “Not in any way that you mean it.”

“Then _what_ are you two conspiring over.”

“I’m James! Well, I’m Elias. But, we’re the same person.” His smile was far too wide.

It wasn’t surprising, really. Peter wasn’t interested enough in this to feel surprised. “And who is that?”

“Can’t you do at least one guess?” said Simon.

“Oh, come on, Peter. One guess. Maybe you’ll get it.”

Peter thought about it. Various possibilities, but one thing made the most sense. “Jonah Magnus, somehow. Body hopping like Rayner.”

“It’s good to see you again, Peter.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “I’ll just see you both next year if things go according to plan. I can let myself out, Simon.”

He made his way back to the main house, the length of the terrace taking far too long to cross. 

Elias followed him into the huge foyer. “So, are you going back to the Tundra?”

“That’s not your concern, Elias.”

“What is?” The intrigue in his tone was a bit much.

Peter didn’t respond.

“Is it time for another sacrifice to the Forsaken? Do you have someone picked out already? I assume it’s easy, getting people to sign on with what you pay them. And you cover it up so well.”

Peter kept walking, and Elias continued to speak.

“We see a fair amount of people marked by the Lonely at the Institute. You know, maybe we could work something out.”

Peter stopped. “Clarify that.”

The light from outside shone in behind Elias... Jonah, leaving his face partially in shadow. “We have all of their information.”

“And why are you offering this now?”

He smiled again. “Because I feel like it.”

“Okay. And what do you want in return?”

“You’re already funding my institute.”

“Yes.” The Lukases had been patrons of the Magnus Institute since it was founded. It struck Peter as a fiscal truce of sorts. They stayed out of each other’s way.

“I’d like… I’m not trying for friendship,” Elias said. “But I think a more… I think us knowing each other better isn’t a bad idea.”

Peter thought about it. “I’m not interested in knowing you.”

“You’ve managed to convey that. I understand. But, my offer stands, no strings.”

“Beyond your usual...” Peter trailed off, unsure of the right word. “Intrusion into other people’s affairs.”

Elias nodded. “That’s nothing new. I could call you, if I have a lead?”

“I’m sure you’d know how to get a message to me. Goodbye, Elias.” He turned to go.

“Have a nice drive, Peter.”


End file.
